


Only For the Mission

by Vampiricalthorns



Series: RoyEd-Free-For-All fics o' mine [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Ed has his automail and alchemy, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nonbinary Character, RoyEd-Free-For-All Daily Challenge, Trans Male Character, Undercover, context will come whenever i write that, i guess, so if any of this seems out of context, this is actually set to a verse i only just started writing and haven't posted any of yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19032607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiricalthorns/pseuds/Vampiricalthorns
Summary: “I’ve gotta go undercover. Next week,” Ed says, deciding that dropping the bomb right away will do just as much damage as gently placing it on the ground before detonating it. “As a girl.”





	Only For the Mission

**Author's Note:**

> This necessitates some explanation  
> -This fic is part of a verse I'm in the process of writing with trans!Ed and nonbinary!Roy  
> -Roy is referred to with they/them pronouns by Ed but he/him by anyone else since he isn't really out to a whole bunch of people  
> -Ed's like,,, 18 and a half in this fic, and they've been dating since around Ed's 18th birthday  
> -All the canon events in BH happened and everything is gucci apart from the fact that Ed keeps his automail and alchemy bc I'm one of those people
> 
> This was written for the prompt "Makeup" and while it doesn't really seem to care all that much about makeup, hey at least it's a fic and that's something. 
> 
> I've been writing and editing this for the past five hours and I'm starting to get really fucking tired of it. I'll check it over for spelling mistakes sometime tomorrow if I find the time. Please do not hesitate to point them out to me.
> 
> This is not beta-read or properly edited, and honestly, it is what it is.

“The boss can do it.”

Ed’s head snaps up. He hasn’t been paying attention to the conversation, but the phrase _the boss can do it_ has never been a good sign.

He frowns and slams his book shut before throwing it onto his almost-clean desk. A pen skidders and almost falls off the desk, but Ed ignores it. The conversation is about him, and there’s something they want him to do. Ed’s not sure how he feels about that. “Do what, Havoc?”

Havoc gestures with one hand. “This undercover operation that just came in with the morning mail. We gotta infiltrate this one building in the downtown area. Problem is that it seems to be a female-one and it’d be suspicious if a team of guys just randomly go in there.” He chews the end of his cigarette thoughtfully. “You’re the only one of us that can still pass for a young woman.”

Ed’s blood goes cold and his chest _hurts_ all of a sudden. When he speaks, his voice is pitched higher than he’s allowed it to go in ages because men don’t get voices that high. The effort to appear unaffected seems impossible. “Make Hawkeye do it. She’s a woman.”

Then he swears, softly enough so that the team will have trouble to pick up on his choice of words. Hawkeye’s not here — she’s on medical leave with a bout of the flu. _Fuck._

Edward raises an eyebrow, reigning in his panic and putting on the mask he’s adopted from Roy. The one who convinces people of his neutrality and indifference to whatever’s put in front of him. “This is the military, Havoc. There’s, like, probably a hundred women in Central and the surrounding area that fit the bill. Why not them?”

The sound of footsteps get louder behind him and Ed looks up to see Roy, door to the inner office open. Ed had known the bastard had been listening in on them, but he hadn’t expected Roy to actually join them in the discussion of the case that would ultimately land on his desk after lunch. Roy looks down at him, and there’s an apology somewhere in the dark blue orbs of Mustang’s eyes. “We need someone that can take care of themselves and that can be trusted. You’d be the easiest to get hold of on short notice.”

The look he sends Roy is filled with every little bit and piece of his disdain that comes with the idea of _dressing up._ It’s literally one of his worst nightmares now with the possibility of coming to life.

Edward doesn’t want to say, doesn’t want to even fathom the thought of being betrayed, because this isn’t betrayal.

He’s been let down, however.

The team— well, they don’t know what Roy knows, doesn’t know what hides underneath his clothes, tucked away under layers of tight fabric, doesn’t know all of his past.

So from them, the suggestion is _fine_.

But, with Roy?

He’s been let down all right.

“How urgent is the mission? How long until the day?” Ed mumbles loudly enough to clearly be heard while running a hand through his bangs, fighting every stray thought of _betrayal_ and _anxiety_ and _oh god I haven’t had to play this role for so long_ and instead attempting to appear thoughtful and calculating.

Roy comes closer, places a hand at the back of Ed’s chair, close enough so that the fingertips ( _Ed putting on clear nail polish the night before, a little touch nobody will notice_ ) touches Ed’s left shoulder. It’s positioned in a way that to anyone else would see it as an accidental event: nothing to think twice about.

The fingers press repeatedly against Ed’s shoulder, in morse code. It’s a system they’ve developed, touch-based communication to avoid bringing suspicion. _I’m sorry_. Roy _means_ it. Ever since they started dating, Roy hasn’t once apologised without meaning it. _Are you okay?_

Ed taps twice on his automail knee, hearing the quiet metallic sound of the hollow joint. _Yes_ , it means and from what of Roy Ed can see, they’ve relaxed a minuscule amount.

“The planned day of infiltration is in five or six days,” Roy says, ruffling their hair with a tired sigh. “You know what that means: we have very little time to plan a big operation. Everybody is expected to give one hundred per cent until the mission is over. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Ed mutters under his breath. It’s dripping with sarcasm and Roy’s fingers press roughly into his shoulder for a second, making a grin ghost over his lips despite the violent storm in his chest.

Six days, five if he’s unlucky. That — that might be enough time to get Winry to Central so that she can help him because there’s no fucking way in hell that the team will be involved in the process of this if Ed can have a say in it. Winry’s a girl, a girl who knows the fucking circumstances of what he’s gonna go through and someone who will take this seriously enough to not make fun of him.

Ed grabs the book, puts the pen that’s still contemplating a nose dive over the side of his desk into the trash can into the pen holder standing on Hawkeye’s empty desk and gets up from his chair. He shrugs on his red trademark jacket and carelessly shoves his braid over his shoulder. “Fine. I’ll do it. See ya.”

He’s out of the door to the office before the team has said their good-byes. That’s fine, he doesn’t really care much for the words. They’re only said when the situation doesn’t call for it. Uttered so casually, like ‘ _I’ll see you again soon, but I can’t tell you when_ ’. It wishes the person a pleasant time, but to Ed, good-bye means missed opportunities.

His mom had only known him for two years as Edward before she died. He hadn’t ever gotten to say a proper good-bye and get the greeting in return.

Good-byes are fake promises.

The temptation to dig his too long nails ( _it’s really time to cut them so that they won’t give off the wrong impression_ ) into the palm of his hand is by now a subconscious habit he rarely picks up on until needle-like pain erupts across his skin in red crescent moons.

He runs the ungloved automail hand through his bangs. The hair catches in the joints and Ed swears again ( _it’s a bad day, and if he’d had a swear jar it would be pouring over with cenz coins, copper circles hitting the table it’s standing on_ ). Detangling hair for the joints is always a bitch, and now that Winry is already gonna visit, she’ll likely check up on his automail and notice the blond strands caught in the mechanics.

He needs to get to Al because Al’ll help out with everything, will make everything better, and maybe if Ed manages to get the point across, he’ll get a hug. Al gives the best hugs in the world, maybe apart from Roy, and if Ed leans down a bit he’ll hear his brother’s strong beating heart that keeps one of the most important people in his life alive and well.

It’s tiring to manoeuvre through the streets of Central at this time of day. It’s just past the end of the school day and there are children running everywhere, some going to the candy store on the corner and others to the park to do their homework.

This entire situation is so bizarre it feels like a dream, but it’s not — it might well be a living nightmare.

But the sun is bright and the heat makes the temptation to take off his jacket and sling it over one arm more of a persistent wish than a fleeting thought.

He glances at his watch right after crossing a busy street. Al’s in the lab right now, doing a research thing for one of his classes.

By the time Ed’s on the doorstep to the laboratory, there will only be five minutes left anyway. He can wait that long for his brother.

If he’s early, he can check on the first-year alchemy students in the atrium down the hall from the lab and help them out with their circles. It’s better than to the let the student try them and end up making a crater in the middle of the floor with an uncontrolled alchemical explosion from placing one sigil in the wrong place.

The university will thank him if he does. They have before.

There is one thought that keeps snatching on a hook at the very front of his mind.

And though Ed has forgiven Roy thanks to the apology, the idea that Roy hadn’t shut down the idea and found another solution makes it feel like someone is pouring ice water over his organs.

He doesn’t hold this option against Roy, though. If it’s really the only plan with a chance of being seen through to completion, then it must really be the best option out there.

And if that means Ed dressing up as something that’s gonna keep him up for nights on end afterwards, then so-fucking-be-it.

The logistics of the entire operation is also putting him on edge. He’ll need a code name to avoid garnering suspicion, but what will it be? Surely it has to be a girl’s name and people will have to call him that for an entire fucking day.

Will he get to choose, or will Roy find a fitting one for him? Do their spies choose their own code names or do they decide for them based on their actual names?

The thought of going back to being Elena Elric makes him want to gag. The name has never fit him and seemed like something his mom had thought of in the blink of an eye just to have something to put on the birth certificate. Underneath his shirt, he wears a silver necklace, a small moon with the name inscribed in an elegant cursive font.

It had been this third birthday gift from his mom and fuck if he’s gonna throw it away, even though he doesn’t match the name anymore; even though he’s not that little girl with small braids wearing cotton dresses.

If he chooses to use Elena as his code name, at least he’ll have one piece of jewellery that will make the entire fucking façade seem real.

“Ed? What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Did something happen at work?”

It’s Alphonse, standing in front of him with a messenger bag slung over one shoulder and wearing a worried expression that makes Ed want to squirm and look away because _damn_ Al shouldn’t worry about him when he has a thousand other things to be thinking about.

Al’s help is necessary for this, though. Ed doesn’t think he can do this without him.

His brother’s hair is dishevelled and parts of it are standing right up from a hand running repeatedly through it.

Whether it’s from seeing his brother standing looking lost at the front step of the university building or from the lab, Ed’s not sure.

Ed grabs his wrist, suddenly feeling that surge of anxiety from being out in public where people see him, where people are watching him ( _can they see everything he’s hiding? Is it obvious that he’s an imposter pretending that he’s something he’s not?_ ) starts to stride towards their apartment. Quick steps, but not quick enough to appear panicked. It’s convenient that their apartment is close to both Central Command and the part of the university where Al spends the most time.

It’s also only a stone’s throw away from Roy’s townhouse, which is one massive plus staring down at Ed every time he’s reminded of it.

“A shitstorm’s come up,” Ed says, shaking his head when Al tries to interrupt him. “Look, it’s dumb military shit that might or might not actually destroy my mental state and my reputation for the foreseeable future. We gotta get Winry to Central as fast as possible. I’m gonna need her help to get through this. Where in the country is she at this time? Don’t you keep track of her?”

He doesn’t need to turn around to see the dusting of red coating Al’s cheeks.

Never mind that, he can deal with his pining brother and best friend at a later date, once the end of the world has passed.

“She’s in Rush Valley, but I’m sure that if it’s urgent, she can catch the next train going and be here by noon tomorrow.”

“Brilliant,” Ed gets out, finally letting go of Al’s wrist after a gentle shake made him notice that he was still gripping it _way too hard with his automail hand and oh god he must have cut off the circulation in it_.

It’s first when Ed makes a grab for his keys and tries to unlock the door to their apartment that he notices his hands shaking.

“Brother,” Al says gently, taking the keys from him to unlock the door for him. “Let me.”

Once inside, Ed drops both his red coat and his black jacket on the back of a kitchen chair and continues on into the living room where he flops face-first onto the couch, burying his face in the _fucking soft_ blanket Al had bought after being discharged from the hospital post-Promised Day.

Unfortunately, the fucking soft blanket also doubles as a _hidden death trap_ since it doesn’t allow for breathing, which necessities uncomfortable neck-craning and flopping around like a fish until Ed’s laying on his side and looking into the kitchen where Al is making coffee for them.

“I’ve gotta go undercover. Next week,” Ed says, deciding that dropping the bomb right away will do just as much damage as gently placing it on the ground before detonating it. “As a girl.”

The mug Al’s been holding drops to the floor and shatters, but Al doesn’t even seem to notice it as he stares blankly at Ed. There are bits and pieces of clay or porcelain or _whatever_ covering the floor but he doesn’t seem to care.

“They want you to do _what_?” Al says, and Ed thinks that Al sounds more upset than is strictly necessary. Like sure, the situation is shitty as hell and Ed would rather it didn’t happen, but— there’s no real way around it in the end. “Roy is letting this happen? He _knows_ , Ed. Is there no other way? They want you to do that.”

“Dress up?” Ed sighs and turns onto his back before letting his automail arm rest over his face. It’s cool, and the sensation is welcome in the dry wasteland of his mind. “Yeah. It’s to infiltrate this one place. I didn’t get all the details ‘cause I was reading but its’ probably one of those female-only establishments dealing drugs or doing some sort of slavery ‘n’ human trafficking shit. You know the type.”

Al nods but there’s something terrible hidden in the furrow of his eyebrows. “Isn’t there anyone else that can do it?”

“Hawkeye’s got the flu. She’s gonna still be recovering by the time it’s over. It’s gotta be me.”

He sits up and winces at the brief twinge in his lower back. He should be laying after sitting in the office since seven-forty-five-am with a fifteen-minute break to run to the bathroom and to the mess hall to grab lunch, but it doesn’t look like Alphonse’s brain will be anywhere close to thinking of the shards covering the floor.

“I hate the idea,” he confesses. “And fuck if I want to do it. But, I—”

He stands and doesn’t finish the sentence. There’s a dusting broom in the closet by the front door. Ed retrieves it and quietly urges his brother to step into the living room while avoiding the mess on the floor.

“I’ll just get through it hoping I don’t, like, go insane or something,” Ed says. “D’you mind calling Winry? It’d really be nice to have her here to help me out with clothes ‘n’ shit.”

Al nods but looks thoughtful for a moment. “They’d want you to wear makeup, probably. Winry doesn’t do makeup, Brother, and I doubt she’d be able to help you out with that.”

Ed grins because he knows someone who _can_ help him out with that without revealing any plans to anyone. “Don’t worry about that. I think I’ve got a plan. But, Winry at least knows something about being a girl.” He tries to grin, but it feels forced. “I kinda suck at that, y’know, I haven’t really tried all that hard for fifteen years.”

“Yeah,” Al says, gingerly stepping over the floor just in case there’s an escaped piece of shattered mug lurking on the tile. He places a hand on Ed’s shoulder. It’s warm and calming and Ed gives an ever-so-slight smile after giving up on the grin.

“I’ll be okay, Al. Somehow.”

 

* * *

 

Five days later, after a lot of long showers trying to keep the negative thoughts from drowning him and cuddles on the couch, Ed’s almost ready.

Roy’s spent the night before the operation at their place, partially since they’re crucial to the final steps of Ed’s disguise and partially because the entire operation doesn’t bode well for Ed’s mental state.

The makeup being put on his face by Roy’s soft and deft fingers feel cakey and wrong and Ed has half a mind to go rinse it off before the itching starts.

He frowns and Roy taps his cheek with two fingers until he lets his face go back into a relaxed state. “It’s only for the mission. I won’t do this again unless it’s literally a matter of life and death,” Ed threatens, staring half in horror at the eyeliner approaching his eyes.

“Yes, dear,” Roy says, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of his mouth, which has been covered with some soft, basically-not-visible shade of pink lipstick-lipgloss-lip _something_. “We can bring makeup remover and a spare set of clothes for you so that you can change back immediately after the mission if you’d like.”

Ed grunts his approval and closes his eyes. “We better.”

There’s the faint smell of nail polish in the room, but Ed’s so used to it from painting Roy’s that he doesn’t really pay attention to it anymore.

 

* * *

 

 It’s a long time since he’s worn clothes like this.

Admittedly, Ed supposes it could be worse.

He’s wearing a dark cotton skirt belonging to Winry that she only wears during the early parts of spring ending just below his knees, with thick over-the-knee socks to hide the automail and its accompanied scarring. Along with it is a plain t-shirt (nothing that shows even a trace of cleavage or the automail plate and screws drilled into his collar bone thank _god_ ) and a jacket to cover up his arms.

It’s cold enough that he can get away with wearing gloves.

Because, automail.

The necklace displaying his deadname is hanging over the shirt, with the silver glinting in the pale light of the Central Command hallways.

Before knocking on the door to the office, Ed takes a deep breath and tries to place himself in the role of Elena.

He knocks because being undercover means a personality change small enough for his closest to recognise him but strangers to think him a completely different person.

The first thing he hears when he opens the door is the sound of the door to the inner office opening. There’s Roy: they had left before him, to erase any suspicion of them coming from the same place at the same time.

Edward sees Roy’s grimace before he speaks. “It’s nice for you to join us, Elena. Please, do take a seat.”

“It’s the boss!” Havoc says, leaning forward. “You make a good-lookin’ girl, boss. Hadn’t I known it was you, I’d have hit on you if I’d seen you in a bar.”

“Shut it,” Ed says, revelling in the growl of his voice. “Just because I’m wearing a skirt doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass.”

Fuery leans closer from where he’s sitting. “That’s a really nice necklace, Edward. It really makes the disguise all the more believable.”

Ed sighs. “Yeah. Al insisted. It’s a nice necklace ‘n’ all, but—” he gestures to the makeup and the rest of the disguise. “I can’t wait to get out of this. Makeup is so fucking annoying, I don’t have a clue how people deal with this shit on a daily basis.”

Roy sits down opposite him. “We’ll leave Central Command in twenty minutes. When you get there, you will go inside, look for any incriminating evidence and get out to find us. We’ll be in the closest park. It’s open, and you should be able to walk right in without much suspicion. Is that clear, Fullmetal?”

Even though the title is worse than his name, Ed is so relieved that Roy had only used his codename ( _deadname_ ) once to establish it to the group, and even the shitty title given to him by Bradley is better than nothing now.

Ed grins, and like less than a week earlier, his voice drips with sarcasm.

“Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

 

Ed’s a second from tearing his hair out. The makeup is itching and the stockings are digging into the back of his knees (the knee he can feel at least). There’s a lot going on around him. There must be at least two dozen military personnel in the building, arresting people and gathering evidence of the quite extensive drug factory that had been driven underground there for over a year.

Roy grabs his arm at some point during the commotion and drags him out of the building and back into the fresh air. He wants to just curl up in Roy’s embrace in the back of the car and not have any other fucking sensory input for the next twelve hours while he deals and sorts through the emotional damage caused by being referred to as ‘miss’ or ‘Elena’ for the last five hours.

“Are you okay?” Roy asks as they march briskly to the car. Havoc’s out with them, ready to drive at a moment’s notice.

Ed doesn’t answer and instead resigns himself to watch the scenery pass by as they drive back to Central Command. He reaches out, finds Mustang’s hand, still covered with a pyrotex and taps, in morse code, quiet enough for it to not attract Havoc’s attention.

_I want to change clothes and go home to see Al._

Roy nods and keeps his hand close in case Ed’s wants to talk more.

He doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Even though he gets to change back to his familiar and well-worn clothes once he’s back in the office and Roy helps him remove the make-up, he doesn’t truly feel like himself until after he’s taken a long big shower at home.

He hasn’t felt this insecure about his identity for weeks and god, it hurts. The uncertainty is pulling at him and for the first time in what feels like ages, there’s a sheet hung over every mirror int eh apartment, because Ed’s not sure he can handle seeing his own reflection with the state he’s in right now.

“Was it a success?” Al asks as they sit by the kitchen table and Al removes the pink nail polish from his fingers.

Ed nods and sighs. “Yeah. Twelve arrested. No injuries. The military didn’t fuck shit p this time.” He pauses and looks down at the nail polish vanishing. “Roy said he’d be over one the most crucial paperwork was filled out.”

Al takes both of his hands, both automail and flesh, and looks at Ed. “You did a brave thing today, Brother. Even though you were uncomfortable with it, you still did it. You had every right to refuse due to it being too much of a personal blow and backlash to doing it. It takes a special kind of selflessness to sacrifice that amount of personal comfort for others.”

“I agree,” says a deep voice from behind him and Ed looks up to see Roy closing the front door behind him after being let in by Winry. Ed grins. “Hey, you, d’you by any chance want this fucking awful nail polish back. I think Vanessa’d appreciate it not being gone from her collection for too long.”

“I’ll make sure to thank her,” Roy says, but there’s that twinkle in his eyes that knows that Ed is aware that that nail polish _isn’t_ Vanessa, but is Roy’s. Not that Al or Winry has any business in knowing that, however, so the Vanessa excuse it is.

“You did a good job, Edward,” Roy says, standing behind him and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “I’m so incredibly proud of you for doing it. You’re more of a man than I could ever be.”

Ed grins big and wide, both from the validation and from the hidden joke. Roy’s not a fucking man.

“Yeah,” he says, looking up. “Perhaps I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr @vampiricalthorns


End file.
